


The Wild Garden

by tirraterra



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Reaping, Character Development, F/F, F/M, Gen, I'm gonna try goddammit, M/M, attempts to make primrose everdeen not a canon sanctioned mary sue, getting to play with the capitol, getting to play with the plot, hopefully some expanded panem culture as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirraterra/pseuds/tirraterra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen isn't there to take the fall for her little sister. Primrose Everdeen will just have to make do on her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wild Garden

_Primrose Everdeen. District 12’s female Tribute for this year is—Primrose Everdeen!_

Prim trembled. Her name hung in the air, faded and still warped by the Capitol woman’s strange accent. The silence within District 12’s main plaza was hollow and expanding with every passing second, and, unlike previous silences where Prim could hear her own heartbeat roar and barely focus her eyes— _learning of her father’s death, the moment after her mother’s first breakdown and strike, that time Katniss had picked a fight with an upper-class boy and come home with jagged glass embedded in her sternum_ —no, this time Prim could hear everything. The breath of those standing close to her was terribly audible, moreso the rustle of their clothing as they began to shift away from her, began to make a path for her towards the raised platform and the bright woman that seemed suddenly very far away. 

Sharply clear also was whispering rasp of the breeze flicking her loose wisps of hair across her earlobes and cheeks, and some half a dozen unknown people coughing and clearing their throats throughout the thousands gathered in the square. But she could not hear her own body, no rush of adrenaline blocked her ears, and perhaps it was this bizarrely clear state of her own senses that allowed her mind to also remain bright and active. 

She took a step forward, and the bodies around her took that as a sign to push past their own sluggishness and shift more immediately out of her path. She straightened herself when she realized she was still looking forward at about waist-level, and the lift of her chin brought the strong blue of the sky into view. It was beautiful today, on the day of her unexpected demise. The following steps were stronger under the color.

It took nearly a minute for Prim to reach the stairs up to the platform, and she made her way carefully up the wooden steps, almost belatedly remembering to run her hands down her lower back and tuck in that frustrating shirt-tail pucker. Then the capitol woman was there in front of her, and Prim could take in how bright she really was; she had never seen colors so vibrant in the Seam, and only some that came close elsewhere in District 12. The woman’s lips were painted lavender and she was dressed in tight pink and yellow fabric that glittered up close and fanned out in a frilly skirt, boosted underneath by layers of bunched lace that looked like foam, it was so finely detailed. 

The woman carefully took Prim’s hands in her own, and smiled brilliantly at her with perfectly straight white teeth. Her nails were turquoise and gold, and both of their hands were delicate and pale, uncalloused. It was probably the only thing they had in common. 

“Hello my dear,” The woman spoke low and sweet, and Prim relaxed muscles in her shoulders she hadn’t realized she’d tensed at the passive, non-threatening body language of the woman. She carefully lifted her lips in a small, tremulous smile for the woman, who brightened even farther and switched her grip to a light encircling around her wrist. She was tugged up closer to the microphone, and suddenly Prim’s bright, clear focus was painful and dizzying before so many faces looking up at her. 

She carefully lifted her eyes up to catch more of the sapphire sky. 

“Here she is; Primrose! Your new female Tribute, and what a darling flower!” Prim felt the sun prickle lightly over her covered skin through the white blouse, and folded her hands carefully in front of her. It almost felt like she should curtsy, but she didn’t know how and wasn’t sure if she remembered Tributes from other years do so, so she settled for widening her smile into something she hoped gleamed confidently like the capitol woman’s. The square remained deathly silent, but the official seemed to appreciate her attempt if the slight brush of fingers over her shoulder was any indication.

“Now, let’s draw for the boy! ” The woman pressed lightly down on her shoulders, indicating she should stay where she stood, and tip-tapped several steps back over to the large glass bowls and slips of paper. She ruffled them for several seconds, and Prim took the opportunity to look back into the amassed crowds in front of her, to search—to search for her family, her heartbroken family, oh gods…

No familiar face looked back. She stared out into the crowd, first in confusion and then more intently, but neither her mother nor Katniss’s face appeared to her. Katniss at least should be up close with the older group, and yet her absence became increasingly clear. _Where…?_ Attendance was mandatory; Katniss had left early that morning to go hunt with Gale, she knew, but Prim and her mother had had to leave the house earlier than expected to make a house visit to the old woman Satch who lived across the Seam and had come down with a horrific cough during the night—her neighbor had brought word to Prim’s mother about an hour after first light and they had both dashed off in their formal clothes. The woman had been vomiting blood, the coughing spasms were so severe, and Prim had had to be careful not to get any on her outfit. They had contacted a patrol official after leaving the house to excuse the old woman from ceremony attendance. 

So perhaps Katniss and Gale had run late while hunting; had the fence come on again? But no, Prim knew that sometimes happened and both of the hunters had alternate routes over the fence to get back into the District 12 proper, so that couldn’t excuse her absence. Had they gotten caught? Had she simply not been able to make it into the potential Tribute groups and been forced to wait in the swathes of older citizens surrounding the plaza?

The capitol woman had returned to her side, a slip of paper pinned between two of her beautiful, elaborate nails, and Prim thought she could make out a black printed ‘M’ for a moment before the older woman leaned over the microphone and parted her light violet lips happily.

“Our male Tribute for this year’s District 12 is Peeta Mellark!”

Finally, a slight murmuring broke through the crowd, though it was not one of any particularly earth-shattering intentions—instead, it was the traditional conveying of information from citizens who knew the doomed Tribute to those who didn’t. Heads turned and lips moved quickly, back and forth, restoring a more natural motion to the crowds—motion that had failed to materialize for Prim’s selection. Everyone in the District already knew of the Everdeen mother’s free medical services and her older daughter, who hunted wild game and kept over fifty other families alive through the sharp, desperate winter. And they knew these two older women treasured more than any other person in the Seam the youngest girl of the family, the delicate and sweet Primrose that played nurse to those writhing in the agony of the worst mining wounds, sat by bedsides for hours at a time, who knew herbs and poultices, remedies for the smallest ailments at the drop of a hat, and would cry tears of sorrow and relief for every rabbit Katniss was able to bring back in the dead winter months of famine. 

Everyone knew of tiny, darling Primrose Everdeen, and they now also recognized that she was going to die in a few weeks for the games of the Capitol and cement every small tragedy District Twelve had always been acquainted with.

The male Tribute was walking towards the stage now, she noticed absently, still caught with searching the crowd and smothering that bud of panic in her stomach she had been able to ignore until now—until she stood on the stage and saw her own lack of family gazing back like a quiet, waiting monster. 

And then there was another presence at her side. The Capitol official had led over the male Tribute, she hadn’t fully caught his name, not really, but that emblazoned ‘M’ stood out in her mind, and he now stood next to her— _towered_ next to her. But against the intimidation his height lent him, his nerves showed visibly in his trembling hands and stiff, white face. He was gazing blankly out into the crowd as the beautiful woman in yellow and pink positioned him next to Prim and secured the microphone, but for a moment he broke his frozen position and looked down at her, his eyes wide and strange. Prim watched him carefully for a moment, taking in the nicer clothes, broad shoulders and generally muscled physique that all indicated good food and a home in the merchant sector of the district. What bad luck he had, having probably never even taken tesserae.

The thought made her lips twitch just a bit, because she must have been even _unluckier_ than him, and the boy seemed to notice her strange expression because he uneasily glanced back towards the crowd, then resolutely and helpless forward towards nothing at all.

Prim bit her lip with a little bit shamefully at making him uncomfortable, and settled her gaze out back at the crowd just as the Capitol woman began to speak. 

“And here you have it, ladies and gentlemen—your two new Tributes for this year’s 74th Hunger Games! What a fitting blonde pair we have here!” At _here_ , she winked becomingly and smiled first at Prim, then Peeta, and while the latter looked like he was going to be sick, Prim caught the hint and smiled widely with her again out at the crowd, her hands still clasped carefully in front of her. She wasn’t sure if it looked as strained as it felt, but the familiar motion eased her aching chest a bit. “So please, let’s have some of applause to show our support for our lovely contestants!” The woman’s teeth shone sharp and brilliant in the early morning light, and as her hands snapped together with an appreciative crack, the sky glowed blue and soft above their heads. Prim felt a surge of affection for the beautiful world she was going to have to leave behind, and before and below her, the boy, and the candy-colored woman, applause began to fall like the beginning raindrops of a weak storm, helpless against its own nature but lacking in any force to push passion into its motions. Still, the sound grew slowly into a tentative murmuring, and the Capitol woman seemed delighted by the strength of the response, which possessed more energy than the worn and weary District had produced in years. 

“Thank you, thank you! Now I’m pleased to introduce to you all once again to District Twelve’s mentor, who will be guiding our two Tributes throughout the next several weeks, Haymitch Abernathy!” Prim turned dutifully in the direction the Capitol woman had thrown her arm in a flourish, as beside her the other Tribute jerkily managed a slight shift as well—but the section of the stage she had gestured to was empty. The pause of anticipation lasted for nearly ten seconds, before there was a crash and a man pushed through the line of Peacekeepers that stood before the stairs and tripped messily up the wooden balustrade, stumbled along the back of the stage using one arm as a heavy support, before finally staggering all the way to where they stood at the front of the structure. 

The Capitol official nearly shrieked when the clearly intoxicated, unkempt man threw an arm about her shoulders, more as an attempt to remain standing than any inappropriate act, Prim suspected. The woman floundered helplessly for a few seconds in the face of her sudden predicament, before her lips tightened into a difficult grimace and she stood up straight as a board under his swaying weight. “Haymitch Abernathy!” She declared again, and it was almost impressive how close she came to masking the quavering note in her voice. The man belched. The woman shuddered, and the whole situation seemed enough to rouse the boy Tribute from his stupor slightly as he took a step back from between Prim and the official. 

Prim reacted instinctively at the sight of the incapacitated older man, and leapt forward just as he began to tilt forward with little too much force for the Capitol woman to handle in her tall heels. She managed to wind her thin arms about his waist (it was really the only place she could reach) and tugged him away from the edge firmly. The man stumbled backwards—right into the younger boy, whose eyes went wide as he threw up his arms in an effort to stop a collision, and then to stop the man from slumping to the ground when his legs finally went out from under him.

The Capitol woman did shriek slightly at the drunk man’s sudden collapse, before Prim was by her side patting her arm calmly. 

“It’s alright, madam. He just needs to lie down right now I think. Why don’t you finish up the ceremony, and we can just have some of the Peacekeepers take him back to the Justice Building? That’s where we’ll be heading next, right?” The woman stared down at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, before her face melted into one of complete relief.

“Oh yes, of course dearie, you’re perfectly right. Yes, you there!” She gestured firmly towards the cluster of Peacekeepers in white uniforms that had gathered fumblingly around the edge of the stage. “Help Mr. Abernathy over to the Justice Building, right way!” She snapped her fingers impatiently, and two of the Peacekeepers broke away and quickly assisted the blond Tribute with his now snuffling, half-conscious burden. The look of relief on the tall boy’s face was almost comical, and between the three of them they managed to haul the drunkard off the stage and behind the high wooden partition surrounding it’s backside. 

The Capitol woman turned resolutely away from where the four men had disappeared, which put Prim back in her line of sight, and a big, brilliant white smile broke out on her face, erasing the look of strain from around her pink and gold-colored eye make-up. 

“Primrose, my dear, looks like it will be just you and I giving the send-off this year!” She placed an affectionate arm bound up with pretty, tight stitching and shiny fabric around Prim’s tiny shoulders, and Prim allowed herself to be led back to the microphone and settled snugly against the woman’s side. Her bright dress crinkled terribly, but it seemed nothing could put a dent in its voluminous material. “Apologies, my friends, but our mentor seems to be having trouble handling all of the excitement of today! We’ll just have to close the ceremony with a few less faces than is traditional—Primrose, dear, give everyone a wave, I’m sure your face is all we need to get into the festive spirit!” Prim obediently raised her hand as high has she could with the Capitol woman set against her, and waved a little motion out towards the gazing, solemn faces of everyone she’d ever known—her eyes prickled suddenly and her constant smile finally caught up to her as her cheeks began to ache. In the distance, the sky stretched out blue and endless. 

“Happy Hunger Games, District Twelve, and remember to keep an eye out for our arrival in the Capitol in just a few days—it will be shown on all the screens in the District! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!”

~✿~

The clarity was fading, Prim thought fearfully as she took a seat in the small plush room in the Justice Building. Anxiety was beating harder every second behind her rib cage, and her hands were beginning to tremble. _Why had the adrenaline taken so long to kick in,_ she wondered, and _was their mentor alright, did someone lay him down properly, did someone find him water?_ Prim pressed her knees together hard, and bent her head until a blond curtain tumbled over her shoulders and blocked out the light coming from her peripheral. She took long, slow breaths, and loosened her tight shoulders, and flexed and unflexed her toes within the thin socks and stiff leather buckle shoes her mother had helped her put on this morning. She wouldn’t panic. She wouldn’t cry. She wanted to see Katniss, and her mother, and Gale and the rest of the Hawthorne family, so she needed to keep her throat from closing up from tears in order to be able to ask the Peacekeepers to fetch them if they didn’t come. 

_Where were they? Why weren’t they at the Reaping?_ Surely, even if Katniss and Gale had been held up, someone would let them know she’d been Reaped. She clenched the edge of the sofa carefully, then dried her clammy palms on the fabric and shakily stood up. The clock told her only a few minutes had passed since the Capitol woman— _Effie Trinket, dear, call me Effie. Now wait here for a bit, your family will be around shortly. Let the Peacekeepers know if you want a drink, but remember, be quick with everyone! We’ve got a busy schedule to keep to!_ —had dropped her off outside of the little room, but her nerves suggested that sitting still would be a fruitless and miserable activity. Instead, she padded anxiously across the thick, incredibly plush carpeting and knocked hesitantly on the paneled door.

It opened, and a white Peacekeeper visor appeared from outside.

“I was—I was wondering if m-my mother and sister were here yet. Do you know if someone let them know where to go?” Prim’s hands trembled even more and her eyes seemed unable to lift past the figure’s abdomen.

“The families of Tributes are informed upon request after the Reaping where the final goodbyes will be held.” Came the muffled, undistinguishable reply.

“I-I…don’t know if they were able to make it to the Reaping, is there any—“

“Prim!” A deep, male voice interrupted her stuttering abruptly, and she was suddenly swept up into a warm, strong hug. The smell of pine and dirt and leather invaded her senses, and she curled helplessly into the arms of Katniss’s closest friend and her own pseudo-brother.

“Gale,” She almost sobbed, and he tightened his grip. “Gale, you made it. Where…?”

“Shush, little duck, it’s alright. I’m sorry for taking so long.” He brushed past the Peacekeeper and half-carried, half-led her back into the little room and pressed her down into the couch. He then scooped up both her hands with his large, calloused ones and cradled her against his chest, resting his chin on the crown of her head. “They turned on the fences this morning after Katniss and I crossed the boundary lines, and we had to climb over through the old oak grove to get back. One of the branches broke, and Katniss hit her head on the way down—she’s fine,” He hurried to reassure, and Prim felt her sudden jerk of terror ease slightly at the consolation, but a second sob rose in her throat regardless, all the stress of the morning coming to a head with the knowledge that Katniss had been _hurt_ —

“I took her to the medical facilities in the merchant sector, and since she was out cold they had no choice but to write her a release form for the Reaping. She’s perfectly all right, the Peacekeeper on hand validated it so she won’t be punished, and they excused me because I was transporting her. I made it just in time for the last bit of the ceremony.” 

Gale ran a soothing hand in little circles on her back, and Prim could already feel her panic dying as calm logic returned amid the explanation. 

She swallowed and cleared her throat. “And mother?” 

She felt more than saw Gale’s entire being tense and then slump. “She…she didn’t take it very well. The Peacekeepers helped her home.” His slate gray eyes wouldn’t meet hers as she raised her head unbelievingly. 

“She…o-oh.” Prim slipped her hands from Gale’s as he turned back towards her worryingly, and carefully tucked her long hair back behind her ears where she normally wore it. She took several deep breaths, and laced her fingers together in her lap, then unlaced them and smoothed them over her skirt.

“Little duck,” Gale started tentatively, but Prim reached out and patted him softly on the arm.

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine. Mother never did handle large shocks well.” She took another deep breath, and gazed up at the ceiling to blink and clear her eyes of the tears forming. “Do you know if it was an actual relapse?”

Gale shifted uneasily and brushed his hair back with one hand. His shoulders seemed to sag. “Prim, you don’t have to do this…you don’t have to act so mature right now, it’s okay to cry. It’s,” He choked, and squeezed his eyes shut. “—it’s hard, seeing you so composed. You’re _twelve.”_ His eyes seemed to burn through her when he opened them again, and Prim felt that heavy, familiar gaze pierce a hole in the bottled resolve she was trying to build.

She took a deep breath, one final time. “No, Gale, I don’t have to act composed…but I can _be_ composed. I’m not going to panic.” She freed herself from her slightly squashed position to fully wrap herself around Gale’s surprised form, and he was forced to wrap his arms about her tiny, fragile figure and hug her closer to keep from falling off the couch. She gazed up at him with as much seriousness and solemnity as she could muster. “The Hunger Games happen every year, and someone’s got to compete each time. Someone does compete each time, through their fear and loneliness…it’s not some impossible task. It doesn’t mean I’ll win, but mourning a death that hasn’t happened? Don’t be silly. Humans live to live longer, or we’d all have a suicide switch built right in.”

Gale was staring at her with wide, bewildered eyes, and she thought it might have been the first time she had ever seen him look less than determined and sure of himself. She cupped his face with both of her pale hands, and smiled adoringly at his look of confusion. For people who spent so much time hunting, neither Gale nor her sister had ever been good at handling the concepts of life and death out of reach of a bow or a trap. 

“I’ll do our District proud, Gale, even if it’s not much. It’s the least I can do for all they’ve done for us.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is really more of a pilot chapter than anything else, so please let me know if you think this could be continued decently. I really would like to do something unusual with Prim's character. This is also my first HG fic, so please please let me know if I got any facts or worldbuilding wrong; I tried to make use of the wiki page as often as possible.


End file.
